Forever a part of him
by MyPreciousDreams
Summary: Jacqueline Dawson has asked herself all her life where she doesn't fit in her family. Who is her grandfather? As a sketch, that was recovered from the wreck of Titanic, is showed in television, questions are answered. Movie in novel form with my own twist
1. Perfect

**Authors Note: Wellll... , so that's my first published story here. I would like to say that I'm a 14 year old girl from Germany who learns English since four years. This first chapter has been read and corrected several times, but I'm almost sure there are still mistakes and I apologize for that.**

**Everybody likes to get response to his work, so please, please review.**

**That's all for the moment. Enjoy.**

Titanic

Forever a part of him

_Have you ever had the feeling that you don't know w__here exactly you belong? That…well, that you don't even know who you are? Because every time you see the families around you, and the bond that they share, you feel like a stranger. Because they all are a part of a…a __**tree**__ on which they are the leaves and they are all endlessly precious to each other and they love and protect each other. The most of them at least. They know where their place is in the world. I too have a tree. But I am a single leave. Apart from all the others on a bleak branch. Don't get me wrong, I love my life and the people in it. I'm not depressive or unloved or such things. I life a happy live. But I don't even know where part of my roots lie._

Moonlight shone through the open windows and a slight breeze ruffled the deep blue curtains while the calming sound of the breaking waves on the beach could be heard in the background. The thin petals and leaves of the three pink roses that stood in a crystal vase on a simple mahogany table on the wide balcony fluttered slightly. In the corner of the same balcony a small fountain was gently splashing and sprayed a fine dust of tiny droplets, which were sparkling silver as the moonlight broke in them, over the balcony.

The balcony detached to a huge room. The wooden floor was a deep colour, the walls were pearl white but draped over and over with beautiful drawings which looked like they were drawn with charcoal. The bowed ceiling was painted in deep blue and all the furniture was mahogany. On one wall stood a bed with silken, blue bedding and a small nightstand at the head end with a mirror hanging above. On the white door had been painted a name in curvy letters: _Jacqueline._

It was the name of a girl, a fifteen year old girl that laid on the bed, her fiery curls spread across the blue pillow, her tan skin shining in the moonlight. She laid on her back, her lips slightly parted and with every breath she let out, a strand of her orange-golden hair that hung across her face fluttered up and then fell back again.

One of her hands was casually thrown above her head and her fingertips were touching a portfolio that had been put on the nightstand earlier.

The thick portfolio was bound in brown-red leather and its corners were worn out from long use. It could be held together with four streams that were detached to the edges. On the front were printed small golden letters which said: _Jacqueline Josephine Rose Dawson._

Right next to it stood a framed photo with three people on it. In the centre sat an old women on a chair, behind her stood a teenage girl who had propped her hands on the arm leans of the chair and on the right side of the chair knelt another teenage girl on her feet.

Both girls were holding one hand of the old women, their grandmother, and all three smiled happily into the camera. The kneeling girl was observably Jacqueline, petit, slim and curvy, in a flowing white skirt that reached just under her knees and a jade green tight t-shirt with rolled up sleeves. The girl behind the chair wore a jeans, a pink shirt and pink sneakers. She was tall and curvy and slim and had curvy brown shoulder length hair. The old women was dressed in an dress with African pattern.

She had sea blue eyes which looked wise and knowing, knowing the hardships and joys of a long life, filled with a million of memories.

The girl behind her had the same eyes, the same deep blue, but younger, still innocent, glimmering with youth. And the kneeling girl, Jacqueline, had this eye too. Right, this _eye_ because only her right eye was this beautiful sea blue. Her left eye had another colour. A stunning colour. It was turquoise, with light blue blushes and deep green little points. And both of her eyes sparkled and shined with life and adventure and humour together with the lopsided grin on her lips.

But the photo was taken two years ago and the two girls had grown up. Sure, their natures and spirits were still the same, in their eyes you could still see the same emotions and characters.

But you could also see something different, something hard and serious.

The youthful innocence had vanished, the naïve beliefs of paradise. The childish thoughts of perfection, that life was like the corny love novels you could find everywhere, that there could be peace if you just wanted it, that love was always nothing but joy, that life would bring exactly what you wanted it to if you just said so. It was replaced by the simple realisation that it wasn't life which adapted to you, but you who had to adapt to life. You could say, life had tought the girls a lesson. A hard lesson.

As the sun rose and drenched the room in gold-orange light that let the hair of Jacqueline glow that one almost couldn't look at it, life came into the house. Barking could be heard as Freddy, the mongrel of the family, woke up and began, like every morning, to wake up the rest of the household. In front of the house the first car drove past and the neighbour opened his garden doors with a Quieeek´.

A new day began, and the people of Santa Monica crawled out of their warm beds and were getting it on, some of them with smiles upon their faces, whistling, looking forward to their dates at the evening, or to going to the beach, or just a pleasant talk with their colleagues at work. Some of them still half asleep, waking up from the hot cup of coffee or the pain when they bumped their tows on the table, and some of them with grim faces, muttering about their stupid boss, cursing about their stupid work and wishing they could go back to bed.

So, almost everyone, because it was the first day of the summer holidays and very few children and teens actually showed signs of beginning the day. And Jacqueline, from nature a long sleeper, didn't plan on getting up any time before noon. She just turned on her side, used to the morningly noises and simply ignored them and slept peacefully on.

Only three hours later, as somebody tapped lightly on her door, she was taken out of her dreamland. Her door opened and the brown haired girl from the picture came in and tapped across the room to Jacqueline's bed and let herself fall next to her cousin. " Wazzup?" , yawned Jacqueline" It's 11.30 am" "So?". Shelby Calvert turned her head and blinked sleepily at the girl next to her "So grandma wants us down in half an hour." " Why?" "Breakfast, sleepyhead" "Uhnng. OK."

For the next five minutes none of the two moved more than an inch.

Suddenly Jacqueline opened her eyes "Shelby?" "Mhm?" "I again had that dream". Now Shelby's interest was caught. She turned on her side and propped her head on her elbow. "Really? Exactly the same?" "Yeah. All night long" "Wow". Jacqueline looked up and raised an eyebrow "That's not _Wow_! That's something to worry about. Since two months almost every night the same boring dream." She crumpled her nose "I'm going mad". Shelby smiled: "Since when are you so pessimistic? That doesn't suit you." for a moment she was silent, then she said slowly: "You know, maybe this dream means something. Like a prophecy. Or no, that doesn't hit it. Like something your spirit wants to say to you ,something from your future or your…your past." For a few seconds it was silent, then Jacqueline exploded with laughter and Shelby grinned and said: "I'm telling crap, aren't I?". Jacqueline sat up and stretched her arms above her head "Yes, but that was a first time! An illogical and cryptic statement from the mouth of my ever logical and strict cousin. _That_ doesn't suit _you_." ; she said, still giggling. The brown haired girl narrowed her eyes: "Stop making fun of me!". Jacqueline's grin became even brighter: "I'm not making fun of you, I would never do that." "You're an asshole, Jackie." "Thanks, I love you, too"

Jacqueline jumped down the stairs and whirled into the living area. " Mornin'", she called as she went to the table which was loaded with breakfast. Three people sat there already.

One was Shelby who bend slightly forward and let her hair fall around her face to hide her grin.

Then there was Mrs. Farewell, a round, highly sympathetic, humorous and loveable women in her fifties. She was short, had a round face with always red cheeks and always laughing eyes and short brown grisly hair with a few grey streaks. She worked for the family since seven years now.

Their Grandmother, who they lived with, was very wealthy and still fit for her age, but wasn't able to hold the whole house clean and intact all by herself. Jacqueline and Shelby helped where they could, but still had school. And they were two fifteen and seventeen years old teenage girls. They just had other interests than scrubbing and dusting and cooking.

So their grandmother had hired Mrs. Farewell and now she belonged to the family. Nobody could imagine a life without the giddy, slightly uncoordinated but hardworking 'maid', how the two girls called her teasingly.

And then there was their grandmother. Rose Dawson Calvert, a 78 year old women. Rose was the type of human who could look fragile and breakable, but you still wouldn't say anything nearly impolite in her presence or make a wrong move. She was one of this people who carried the air with them that gave the impression that you couldn't and wouldn't bring her down, nor would she take any commands from you, no matter the circumstances. Head high, shoulders square she would march down the street, not stopping until she got what she wanted.

But with a smile. Always with a smile. Because the outer façade often gave you the wrong impression. And when you took a second look, you saw a women with a warm heart who always put others in first place. A women with thousand of memories, some so very melancholy, some unbelievable happy and filled with joy. A women who had seen almost the whole world and was still eager for adventures and new experiences.

When you took a second look, you saw that behind the hard outer façade was a women really as fragile and breakable as she sometimes seemed.

The girls loved their grandma over everything. And their grandma loved them endlessly.

Who touched them with bad intentions had once had a life. Rose Dawson Calvert would make it hell.

Jacqueline ignored the disapproving frown of her grandmother at the jogging suit she wore and took a seat in between Shelby and Mrs. Farewell.

"You couldn't possibly have chosen more appropriate for breakfast, could you?" Rose asked.

"Nope. The suit is comfy. I like it."

Shelby muffled her giggles with a mouthful scrambled eggs and Mrs. Farewell was suddenly very interested in her slice of bread on which she had smeared honey on both sides in her distraction.

While Jacqueline loaded her plate Rose stared at her unmoving. Her granddaughter returned the stare and raised one eyebrow. It was the morningly staring competition.

Suddenly a splotch marmalade flew from Rose's spoon and hit Jacqueline direct on the chin.

Shelby and Mrs. Farewell burst out laughing while the redhead whipped the marmalade away disgusted. "Absolutely not fair. You could have warned me. Since when is playing with food allowed?!" Her Grandmother grinned smugly " Holiday bonus, dear!"

All in all, they were the perfect family. But they had their dark secrets


	2. Family history

To understand the Dawson-Calvert's Family history, you had to go back to the beginning of the 19

To understand the Dawson-Calvert's Family history, you had to go back to the beginning of the 19. Century.

It all began with Rose Dawson. What was before her, nobody knew as she wouldn't speak of it. Rose's life story starts at the age of seventeen. Back then, she had been a girl from the lower level without money, home or family. And pregnant. Pregnant without a man she could call the father of her child. The people had called her a whore, a harlot and stayed away from her. The only friend she had had was a young women called Hazel Bariot. Hazel was a prostitute from the streets of New York, the low life amidst the low lives. But she had been the "friendliest, kindest women", as Rose later put it, the young girl had ever met.

Over months Hazel had given her shelter and nourishment and Rose was later sure that without Hazel's help, she wouldn't have survived.

In January 1913 Josephine Rose Dawson had been born, a little girl that seemed to be the total replica of her mother. Rose did everything to give her daughter a happy childhood and hold the war away from her.

As Josephine was four years old, Rose decided it was time to leave the streets of New York. She wanted to go back to Europe.

It was a tearful goodbye and the last time Rose would ever see Hazel. She would hold the dear friend always in her memory.

Rose had become a pretty good seamstress and could afford a small apartment in Paris. Soon it showed that Josephine had a talent that she didn't get from her mother. The young six year old girl who should go to school in three months could sketch the most wonderful pictures for her age.

Josephine later remembered that the first time she had showed her mommy a sketch, Rose looked as if she would combust from happiness. But later in the same night, as Josie, how she was called, had got up to get herself a glass of water, she had passed Rose's room. Her mother had laid in bed and cried so heavy as if somebody had died.

1922 Rose had met a man called Charles Calvert. He was a layer with a nice house he called his own and enough money to provide a family.

Here Josephine remembered that her mother was very hesitant with George. She always looked very pained and seemed to have an inner debate. It wasn't new to Josie who had always seen her mother very sad from time to time. The women seemed to be in great misery.

As if she couldn't let go from something.

As she was asked from her daughter why she "wouldn't go to the Calvert guy", she had answered: "I still love another man, butterfly"

"And does he love you?"

"Yes, butterfly".

The nine year old pulled her eyebrows together

"So why isn't he here with us?"

At that Rose's eyes began to water.

"Because he can't." "And would he like you to be happy?"

"Oh, yes"

"Do you like the Calvert guy?"

" It's Mr. Calvert or Charles. And yes, I like him."

Josephine smiled "So marry him!" Rose laughed.

To put it short, two years later Rose married the 'Calvert guy'.

1925 the now 12 year old Josie became a big sister. Elizabeth 'Lizzie' Margaret Calvert was a blond, blue eyed girl that always should be the calm and thoughtful sibling.

The two sisters loved each other even with huge the difference in age. So Lizzie's first word was "Jos-phine".

The family travelled around the world. Africa, Japanese, Brazil, everywhere where they could go. And always was Rose the motor. It was she who wanted to see the world in first place. The others soon joined her in her fascination.

But naturally the bliss couldn't last forever. It was a simple question actually, something that Rose knew would come one day for sure. But as it then came, it hit her like a knife.

"Who is my father?"

The pregnant Rose couldn't answer her daughter. She just shook her head and whispered that she would tell Josephine one day, that she promised.

The 15 year old had been angry and sad but didn't press the matter. She hated it to see her mother unhappy.

In the same year George Calvert had been born. The little boy was a true joy for the family, which was now with five heads complete.

They continued to travel.

And for Rose, now 33 years old, a dream came true. She had success in Hollywood. She never became a very famous actress, but a small one, never in the middle of attention but always there and admired.

From the outside they were the perfect family. And sometimes they really were. But Josie became more and more disappointed with each passing day. Her mother never spoke about her father. And as Josephine asked her the around 40. time, Rose got furious. She screamed and yelled that she would tell her one day and that Josie should stop asking.

Rose saw years later that that was possible the worst mistake she ever had made in life.

Charles confronted her in the same night.

Rose was in the kitchen, washing the dish, as Charles came in. He saw that she was crying, but as hard as he tried, he couldn't feel pity.

"You know she has a right to ask. She has a right on a father, even if he just exists in your tales."

Rose didn't answer. But the plate in her hands broke as she put to much pressure on it. With a frustrated cry she put it down and headed past her husband out of the kitchen.

"God, Rose. How would you feel? She has a right to know. You can't hold it from her forever."

"Shut up, SHUT UP!" Rose's cry echoed loud through the house. And then she broke down in tears. Charles tried to reach for her, but she stumbled back.

"You have no idea", she whispered.

"You have no idea. It hurts. It hurts so much. So much to even think his name. To see his face behind closed eyelids. You can't even imagine the pain. I can't- I couldn't possible speak about it."

"But something. You have to tell her something. She doesn't know anything. Rose, I heard her speak to her friend that she believed it was possible that her father was a rapist. That she might be the out coming of a rape.

Rose just looked at him horrified and to stunned to speak.

" I mean, Rose, it _really_ seems so sometimes. Every time Josephine just says the words 'my father' you get stiff and cold and you look so incredibly sad. Your daughter wears herself down with that idea. Is it that what you want?"

"No. _No._" Rose shook her head.

" It's not like that at all. I _loved _her father. I loved him so much. He was my saviour, he-"

Rose broke up and turned around. On the top stair stood a redhead with a small, sad but very relieved smile on her face.

After this evening the matter wasn't spoken of anymore. Josephine has gotten the information most important to her. She craved for more, but after seeing her mother break down in pain and tears, she wasn't eager to be the reason for more anguish.

But days turned into months, months into years and years into anguish on Josie's part.

She was twenty years old when her patience ripped.

Rose was confronted by her daughter in the backyard. It was a long 'conversation' filled with shouting and whispers, pleas and trembling. But in the end, the result was the same.

Josephine stared at her mother, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"You're not the only one in pain, you know."

She turned around and walked to the gate that led to the street.

"I don't even know who I am."

The gate closed behind her. Rose sat in her chair, staring blindly at the spot her daughter had stood only moments before.

She had never felt so disgusted with herself.

The following week was hell. Not once Josie called or even gave a sign that she was still alive. But Rose waited. She waited for her daughter to call her, to visit her.

So she could tell her everything. Rose had finally build up the courage to share her secrets. Even if it would pain, she knew Josephine had been in the right for all those years. So she had pushed her fears aside. Even her greatest fear. The one that actually was the reason she hadn't told over all those years what she should have.

Because once Josephine knew who her father had been, she would want to know why he wasn't with them. And then Rose had to relive the night she had shoved in the farthest corner of her mind.

But Josephine didn't call. And Rose didn't call her as she knew that Josie had to do the first step.

And again days became months. And again months years. One year. Two years. Four years. Six years. Seven years.

Seven years the only way mother and daughter communicated with each other was over the cards which came together with the presents on Christmas and their birthdays.

Josie had moved to New York, where the heavy pubescent Lizzie spend her holydays.

Josie met a man named Harry Tingle. She fell had over heels in love with him and as Josephine was twenty seven, he proposed.

Rose got an invitation from her daughter to their marriage. She was more than happy, she was ecstatic. Later Charles would jokingly say it had surprised him that Rose didn't drown in her own tears of happiness.

But it had been seven years. And as much as Rose tried to keep it, her confidence had crumbled again.


	3. The chest

**HI! I know it's been a long time, but I really had problems with the timeline, like I said. And school started today again. Ugh!**

**No, really, I am sorry. I could have updated sooner, but, frankly, I suffered under the HL-syndrom, the holiday-lazyness syndrom.**

**And I am really sorry for that, It won't happen again.**

**Now, to the timeline problem: Titanic was found in 1985. And this story plays in 1972. The film plays in 1995. ... Shit.**

**I tried to find a way around it for weeks, but in the end I had to accept that I can't change the rules of math. It's a "mathematical certainty".**

**So, for this story to work, we have to pretend that Titanic was found 1970 and that the technical standards back then were as high as they are today, ergo: high enough to recover things from the wreck.**

**I know that is a ummmmm,... well, it's not very nice. I hope it doesn't make the story worse for you. Pretend it's nothing, I do. **

**And other than that, the update for my other story "Tiny Silver Droplets" should come pretty soon, I'm just working on the end.**

The Chest

_I was Born 1957, my mother was 44. I know it was a happy and sad day all at once. It was the first day, after mom's and __dad's marriage that Rose and Josephine were in contact again. Yeah, I know, sad ,isn't it? I tried to think over it in both mom's and grandma's view, and at the end I came to the conclusion that mom sure had all right to be angry with her, furious even, pained, broken. I would be, too. 27 years old, and still not knowing who part of your family is. I don't think I need to explain what happened back then. Grandma had lost her courage. She never told, just as she never told about the first seventeen years of her life, the lost seventeen years, like I and Shelby call it._

_It was Grandma who gave me my name. Jacqueline. Mom told me Rose broke down in tears the moment she saw me. You see, it's not only my left eye that can't be found anywhere else in my family history. It are all my features, too._

_My high cheekbones, the straight nose (everyone else in this family has noses that point to the sky), the blond in my hair that makes it a glowing orange-red, not a deep red like my mother and grandmother. My whole jaw. Pretty features, actually. Very pretty, says everybody else, but I hate to get compliments about my looks, it makes me feel self-centred and egoistic out of some way._

_I'm not stupid, my mother is not stupid. It wasn't difficult to figure out from where I had got them. From whom. Sometimes grand__ma looks at me and strokes across my cheeks or eyebrows or chin, and then she has this sad, melancholy look in her eyes. _

_Another thing she is enticed about me is my sketching. She thinks my hands are wonders. I think my hands are dirty with charcoal most of the time and with bitten down fingernails and I can't think what she sees in them. Anyway, she kept each one of my drawings and handles them like the crown-jewels. She even has my very first one, a huge pink and green ball from which she says that I said it was a kitten in a meadow. _

_But that's not the point here. My family's story is. _

_It was 1979 and I was seven years old. Shelby was nine. After the years of my and Shelby's birth (don't get that wrong here, Shelby is my cousin, well half cousin not my sister. Or at least not physically. She's Georges daughter, who married a charming young women just a few years after my mom's marriage), the connection between Josie and grandma was always very tense, but at least they had one. How I understood it, mom didn't ask any more about… you know…because she didn't see the reason in it. And Rose got more and more disgusted with herself. But the fear of something nobody but she herself knew and still knows off was nagging brutally inside her. I'm almost sure it still is today._

_Shelby and me, we stayed overnight by a friends birthday party that night. Today, Benetha, or Benni, is our best friend. I don't remember much. I'm not sure if I want to. _

_My mom, my dad, George and his wife, Lizzie and her boyfriend ( they were as good as engaged ) went out together this night. Kind of a group date, I guess. Taking advantage of the child-less evening. They were in a car together, driving towards their favourite spot, out of town. At the same time, a truck driver decided to drive home in his motor truck from exactly that spot. Drunk. And he got on the wrong side of the highway. High speed. Singing. The car with my family. A turn in the road. _

_The funeral was two weeks later._

_Until today, the one picture burned forever in my mind is the one of the six urns standing between heaps and heaps of flowers. _

_We lived with grandma then. Like I said, I don't remember much. I remember I stopped sketching. I remember months, nights and days spend in my bed. I remember eating food that had no taste to me. I remember the flowers on the nightstand that had no colour to me. I remember Shelby trying to fall down the stairs and hoping to break her neck in the process. Grandma had to bring her to a psychiatrist._

_Grandma._

_I remember her breaking. It had been one to many tragedy in her life. I don't want to describe it. You can't describe it. I remember being glad that Charles had died tow years before. He had been Josephine's father in anything but blood, he had been the father of George and Lizzie. I was glad he didn't had to live through this._

_That Grandma could heal part way in the end makes me admire her even more today. But back then I didn't feel pity for her. I hated her._

_All my mother had ever wanted was knowing who her father was. Parts of her life had been filled with pain because of it. With misery. And now she had died without ever knowing it. She would never know, now. Only when she met him up there, I taught back then._

_But over the years I came to see something. The horrible pain that resided in me, still today, let me see something. If somebody asked me to tell about that night with the car and the drunk driver, would I? No. Of course it was something others with mom and grandma, something huge others, but it let me see through grandma's eyes a little bit._

_My grandma has made big mistakes in her life. Horrible mistakes. And she knows that._

_But we all love her. Because as much as she did wrong, as much she did good things in her life. Not only for her, but mostly for others. _

_The thing is, I will not let that happen to me. I learned a lot of life, just by watching it over the years. Alas, Josie's and Rose's relationship. Life thought me an even harder lesson. _

_And I will not let that happen to me. I have a right to know about my past. I want to know about my past, eagerly, I want to know about the man I so reassemble to. Because that's the only thing I know about him. That I reassemble him, very much so. I want to know him. And sooner or later, Grandma has to face up to that._

_._"I think it is somewhere on the right beneath the window. You should recognize the suitcase immediately, the blue-yellow flicks are very flashy.", chuckled Rose.

"Is anything else in it? The suitcase, I mean.", asked Jacqueline as she took the long pole with the hook on it's end and hooked it into the ring on the lid in the ceiling.

"Oh yes, I think so. A few other costumes and a wig. And photos could also be in there, I don't remember that exactly. Please be careful with them, Dear."

"Sure, Nana." With a strong pull the lid fell open and a ladder lowered itself, together with a huge cloud of dust. Jacqueline jumped to the side, coughing and laughing at the same time.

"Man! We were last time up there three months ago!" Every time somebody of the Calvert-Dawson household went up to the attic, he or she had to sweep the area around the lid and the lid itself before they went down again. This ´tradition was founded years ago, as Josephine and Lizzie opened the lid the first time in two years and a true avalanche of dust and dirt came down. The two sisters could jump out of the way, but George, who stood direct behind them, got the whole thing in his face. Naturally, everybody, except him, found that incredible funny. But as George still sneezed two days later, the ´sweeping-rule was founded.

Rose laughed as Jacqueline sneezed. She shot her grandma a playful glare, laid the pole on the ground and began to climb up the ladder.

The attic had been since ever one of Jacqueline's favourite places in the house. With all the colourful suitcases and boxes and closets and the green painted walls it looked like a huge pile of XXL-building bricks. When she was a little girl, she would crawl in the spaces between two boxes or try to climb up the different piles. She never had had a problem with dust and dirt. You just had to shower, later. Shelby could never understand that. She could easily win a ´Who has the cleanest room competition.

But what Jacqueline liked the most about the attic was what was inside all these boxes. The collection of a whole life laid here. A life that had been lived to the fullest. Her grandma's life. All the memories of Africa, Indian, Australia, Paris and New York and all the other lands and places her grandma had been in the time of her life.

In the past sometimes Jacqueline had got lost in this little world for hours, searching through the boxes with all the books and little statues and jewellery, all the paintings her art-fanatic grandma had bought , clothes and keepsakes like walking sticks, umbrellas, cigarette lighters and masks and all this stuff. Naturally the old costumes from Rose's time as an actress and, Jacqueline's favourites, the big albums, filled with photos that showed Rose, often with her family, in places all over the world. But these hours in the attic were just an other thing that had changed with the death of their parents two years ago. Since then Jacqueline just couldn't sink in it anymore, not when she would find again and again things that reminded her of her parents, especially her mother.

So, as Jacqueline stood now in mitts of all these, she tried hard to ignore the tight feeling in her chest.

"Yellow-blue flicks, yellow-blue… ah, there!", she murmured as she bent down to the staple and picked up a little red cartoon from the suitcase. She put it to the side, kneed down and opened the lid. She smiled as she took a blond wig out of it. When it came to the things in the attic, you could count on it that Rose almost exactly knew were everything was.

" Here we have it."

Jacqueline pulled out a long red dress with little white wings attached to it's back. She put the other things back in the suitcase and closed it. Then she folded the dress again, took it, stood up and turned around to go back to the lid. She had the half way when something caught her eye and she turned around again.

There, at the very back of the huge room stood it in the corner. A large black wooden chest. Slowly Jacqueline walked to it and stroked with her fingertips across the dusty lid. A sad smile formed on her lips. This chest stood here since Jacqueline could remember. It hadn't changed the place in all the twenty-four years sine it was placed here, because of two reasons. The first one was simply that the chest was very heavy. And the second one was that it was a sanctum. It was the only container up here from which Jacqueline didn't know what was in it. To be exact, nobody knew what was in it. Nobody, except Rose, of course. And Rose told nobody about it. She didn't even speak of it. Never. And the last time it was open was as Rose put in the things she wanted nobody to see and then closed it and locked it. That had been about seventy years ago.

Jacqueline's mother once asked about it, but she never got an answer. And Charles had told them that Rose already had the chest when he met her. Even he never knew what was in it.

Jacqueline kneed down before it and blew the dust away from it's lid. Smiling she looked at it.

The secret wasn't the only thing why she liked this chest so much. The other reason was simple. It was beautiful. All over it were painted silver stars. Not the jagged stars how you see them in the circus or so, but real tiny stars how Jacqueline looked at them every night. On the case they were scattered, with spaces between them, but on the lid they came together to a real painting. The milky-way. So detailed and fine that it could have been a photo.

And something other. The lock. It was a beautiful padlock and it was a secret for it's own. Silver, shaped like a heart. And the heart was framed from waves. From gentle waves, like the heart would sink into the water. A sunken heart.

The whole thing was Jacqueline's favourite peace up here and there had been a time when she would have given everything to know what was in it. But, like said, the theme was almost forbidden in this house and , like with every other thing, the death of their parents let also this challenge sink in the background.

But so or so, Jacqueline knew what was in it. It hadn't been too difficult to figure out. She guessed it already years ago. She thought, no, she was _sure_, that in this chest laid the lost seventeen years. And with them maybe her own past.

.


	4. Little girls and

Little girls and...

One week had past since the beginning of the summer holidays, and the mood in the little house on the Santa Monica pier was happy and relaxed. Most of the days Jacqueline and Shelby weren't at home, which meant they were out with friends, shopping, swimming and so on and Mrs. Farewell was with Rose.

But most of the evenings the two cousins were at home and as the sun went under, they would go to the beach like every evening, sitting there and looking at the sunset, talking about everything and nothing. When it was dark, they would lie on their backs, foots in the surf, looking up at the breathtaking night sky. Like every evening Shelby would go back after some time and like every evening Jacqueline would stay, getting lost in the stars as her artist thoughts would wander across the world.

But today, Sunday, neither Jacqueline nor Shelby were out. It was around noon and it was _hot_. The sun was shining bright and hard on the beach, which was, on the public places, so crowded with people from all over the world that from far it looked like one huge clump.

The air was flickering and the betony on the streets fried your feet. The inhabitants who didn't want to do them self the torment of going to the beach and being stuck between sweaty, noisy people, had fled them self in the cool and still shadows of their houses. Just as the Calvert-Dawsons.

Rose sat on the table, wearing a short-sleeved dress, and was looking at one of her many albums, quietly summing in her ´ I'm old but happy ` kind of nature. Mrs. Farewell was sitting at the kitchen counter, her cheeks even redder than usually, reading a magazine before her and fanning wind to herself with another one.

Shelby laid on her back on the couch, the thin pink t-shirt knotted up, listening to music on her iPod with one ear, eyes closed.

And Jacqueline sat on the veranda table with crossed legs, in just hell blue short jeans and a white bikini top with little mussel shells attached to it, the hair tied up in a lose bunch. She had her portfolio on her lap and was sketching with a peace of charcoal a little boy and his sister in the neighbour garden who were chasing each other with the garden hose, laughing wildly as they whipped the water out of their eyes. They all were too drowsy to start a conversation, and so the room was filled with a comfortable silence, only interrupted with the occasional rustling of a turning page and the faint, gentle scratching of charcoal on paper.

Jacqueline looked up again with narrowed eyes against the sunlight and watched how the soft blonde locks of the little girl flew behind her as she ran squealing through the backyard, tiny water pearls glittering on her face and hair. She smiled and stroked the black piece carefully over the paper, loving the smell of charcoal in her nose. It were moments like these, in which she again realized how precious life was.

´To make each day count`, the motto of her life, of the life of her family, the motto her grandmother had lived her whole life about.

With fast strokes Jacqueline sketched the shadows of the little siblings and added tiny flowers to the grass. The two children and their mother had moved here only two weeks ago and more than a short handshake and a hello hadn't happened until now. Jacqueline remembered that the mother had made quiet a bit money in some medical laboratory and so they could move in this beautiful quarter.

Jacqueline added the last few strokes and put the charcoal to the side. She blew on the sketch to get the most of the black dust off and looked at it. The little girl ran laughing and with raised arms away from her brother who jumped behind her, his tiny hands holding the hose as he tried to get his sister wet. Jacqueline liked how she got the expressions on their faces and how the sunlight was reflecting in the water that came out of the hose, creating a faint rainbow.

" Have you drawn something?"

She looked up from the picture. The little girl stood now on the white wire netting gate that separated the two backyards and looked through the wide mashes up to Jacqueline. Jacqueline smiled and glided from the table. She took the drawing out off the portfolio and walked across the grass to the girl who grinned, happy to have the attention of 'such a big girl'.

" Uh huh, I drew you and your brother. I hope that's okay with you.", Jacqueline said as she leaned against the gate, smiling down at her.

The little girl took a step back to have a better sight on the older girl. As she heard what Jacqueline had sketched her eyes brightened even more.

"Can I see?" she asked exited.

"Sure. Here" Jacqueline leaned forward and gave the girl the picture. Her eyes got bigger with every second she looked at it.

" _You_ have made that?! It looks like… well, awesome." She looked up again at Jacqueline with admiration " It's very, very pretty".

" Thank you very much, madam. I feel very honoured.", Jacqueline said in a fake proper voice, like her little neighbour was some well known art critic. The little girl giggled.

" I'm Jacqueline Dawson, but you can call me Jackie." Jacqueline said smiling, now in normal tone again.

" I'm Emily Circle, and I'm five years old" the girl said, shaking Jacqueline's hand with her hole arm.

"Really, so old already?". Emily nodded proudly

" Yes, and someday I'm going to be _six_ years old!". Jacqueline laughed and Emily looked at the sketch again, then gave it back to Jacqueline.

" Here.", she said with a wistful look in her eyes. Jacqueline took it, looked at it and said: "You know what? You can keep it."

" Really?!" Emily called excited, clapping her tiny hands together.

" Really. Just let me sign it, okay ?" Jacqueline said and turned around. She headed back to the veranda table and took the piece of charcoal again. She wrote the datum down in the left corner and signed the picture with a swift movement: JD.

As she looked up, she looked directly in the gaze of her grandmother, watching her with 'this special expression', how Shelby had often called it. Fondness and Sadness and Love all mixed up.

With the years, Jacqueline had grown accustomed to it. It didn't bother her anymore as it once had. It was a look she received often and after a few years she had given up trying to figure it out. It wouldn't do her any good, anyway. It was just another of her grandmother's countless secrets.

Rose smiled softly at her and then turned back to her photo album, once again delving down into her precious memories. Jackie chuckled softly. Her grandmother, the great mystery.

She walked back over to the little girl who still stood at the wire netting, looking at her expectantly.

"Here you go." Jacqueline handed her the paper. The girl took it with a big grin.

"Thank you!"

"Emily! What are you doing there? Come in, your all wet, we have to get you in something dry." It was the mother, Mrs. Circle, who stood on the porch of her house, waving her little daughter inside.

"I'm coming, mama! Look what the girl gave me! Her name's Jackie and she can draw soooo good and do you know that…." Jacqueline laughed as Emily run over the lawn to her mother, stumbled, caught herself and jumped at her mother, all the while babbling non-stop.

Mrs. Circle rolled her eyes at Jacqueline in good-natural way and ushered her little daughter inside.

It was early evening when the door bell rang. Shelby opened, coming face to face with Mrs. Circle.

"Hey, I'm Anne. You're Shelby, right?"

"Ah, yes, the new neighbour. Hi."

Mrs. Circle smiled a bit awkwardly and tugged a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked tired and exhausted, a shy smile playing on her lips.

"Yes. My daughter, Emily, met your sister this afternoon." She laughed. "She didn't stop talking about it for ages. Jackie, I think. She has a wonderful talent for sketching."

"You mean Jacqueline. She's my cousin, not my sister."

Mrs. Circle blushed. She seemed to be a exceptionally shy women.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

Shelby smiled slightly. People were not dumb. When two cousins lived together with their grandmother, then it was not difficult to guess where parents were.

"Nah, it's okay. Can I help you in any way?"

Mrs. Circle blinked and looked at her confused, then she seemed to remember the actual reason why she had come over here. She blushed even stronger. Shy and forgettable.

"Oh, well, yes, I wanted to ask if you and your family might want to come over for dinner tomorrow evening. You know, to get to know each other."

Shelby looked at her surprised. That had been Rose's idea. She had wanted to invite them, too.

"Sure, I will ask my grandma if it's alright and let you know. Are you at home over the day?"

"I am. That's great. Soo… bye, I guess."

Shelby smiled.

"Yeah, bye."


End file.
